Intermix Nation (44 page)

“Thank you,” he sneers, turning.

“On second thought,” Gabirel says,
inspecting his nails, “I think I’m rather displeased with your
attitude after all.”

Grum faces Gabirel stiffly. “Apologies,
Chancellor.”

“Do you value your life, intermix?”

“Yes, Chancellor.”

“Then you should know not to bite the hand
that feeds you.” Gabirel nods at his guard, who passes him a
machete from her belt. “I’m in an unusually literal mood today,”
Gabirel says, fingering the blade. He shivers excitedly. “Oh, it’s
sharp!” Gabirel extends it to Grum, who cautiously accepts it.
Nazirah knows something very bad is about to happen.

“Chancellor?” asks Grum warily.

“Cut it off.”

Grum looks at him, shocked. “M-My hand?”

“Y-Yes,” Gabirel mocks. “You’re not leaving
here any other way.”

“Please, Chancellor!” Grum cries, dropping
to his knees. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Don’t beg,” he says. “It’s not flattering.
You intermix need to learn a lesson in appreciation. Do it now and
keep your life, or die. It’s your choice. Be grateful I’m giving
you one.”

Nazirah doesn’t want to watch. But she can’t
look away. The guards raise their guns, pointing them at Grum. Grum
looks between them hopelessly, shakily raising the machete. He
begins hyperventilating and crying. Nazirah almost feels sorry for
him. He shuts his eyes, grits his teeth, and in one swift motion
hacks off his hand at the wrist. It rolls across the marble
floor.

Grum’s screams echo through the room. He
cradles the remaining stump against his chest, wailing, collapsing
on the ground. Blood gushes as he crawls towards the exit. Several
girls cry out, gagging and looking away. Even the men appear
nauseous.

Grum leaves pools and trails of crimson in
his stead. Nazirah refuses to cower. Because that’s exactly what
Gabirel wants. The Chancellor looks at her expectantly. “He
deserved it,” she says, calmly as she can, trying not to betray her
emotions.

Gabirel smiles wickedly, standing before
her. “She has a voice,” he says, running a finger along her jaw.
“She has a tongue.”

“You’re repulsive.”

“
I’m
repulsive?” He chuckles, turning
around. “Did everyone hear that? The intermix finds
me
repulsive!” His
friends laugh uncomfortably. “Remove her handcuffs.” One of his
guards quickly unlocks them. Gabirel grabs Nazirah’s wrist, hisses,
“You, little intermix, are the repulsive one! You and your dirty
blood that taints everything it touches. Here, let me give you the
mark you so desperately crave.”

Gabirel holds the burning end of his cigar
just above Nazirah’s forearm. He keeps it there for several
seconds, patiently waiting, staring into her eyes. Only when
Nazirah flinches does Gabirel lower the tip to her skin, satisfied.
Her flesh sizzles, the stench of fear and loathing. Knees buckling,
Nazirah bites her lip until it bleeds. But she doesn’t cry out.

Gabirel stamps the cigar out with his foot.
“Stronger than you look,” he says, licking his lips. “I like that.
The strong ones always break hardest.”

“Have fun trying,” she snarls.

“I believe I will,” he says, turning again.
“Gentlemen, I’m afraid I must cut our game short. As you can see, I
have my hands full. But please, take our female companions as a
parting gift. Do with them what you like.” The others quickly exit
the room, dragging the sobbing girls through the blood.

Nazirah watches the girls go, not wishing
their fate on her worst enemy. She protectively holds her burned
arm, already feeling the tender skin blister.

Gabirel addresses her. “Your presence in
Mediah is no secret, Nazirah … may I call you Nazirah? I leaked
your arrival to the public myself. Even here, you are a
legend.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine, I admit,” he taunts. “When I first
sanctioned your parents’ elimination, I did not realize the
consequences of that action. It was an oversight on my part, to
feed an already smoldering fire. But I will rectify that error soon
enough.”

“When you kill me.”

“Yes,” he agrees, “When I kill you, tomorrow
morning at your execution. It will be spectacular, broadcast
throughout the entire country. I’ve been trying to capture you for
quite some time, you know. I’m sure you’ve realized by now that
sending that fool Ivan through hell and high water to your little
compound was just a diversion so I could get to you. You’re quite
the traitor, Nazirah. But as they say … the apple doesn’t fall far
from the tree.”

“Killing me won’t solve your problem!”

“Actually,” he corrects, “killing you solves
all my problems. To the capital and our loyal allies, it’s an
unfortunate means of justice … finally ending the vile grassroots
uprising threatening our happiness. To the insurgents, it’s a
brutal blow, destroying their symbol of hope and rallying cry all
at once. It’s a win-win situation … except for you. Sorry about
that.”

“My death won’t stop the rebellion,” she
snaps. “You think I’m the only thing binding us together? All we
have to do is look around! Poverty, famine, inequality, death …
those are better rallying cries than I could ever hope to be!”

“Hope is a funny thing, isn’t it?” Gabirel
asks. “Do you really think that, in the entire history of our
nation, yours is the first uprising? It’s not. Many have come
before you and many will come after. The key to quelling a
rebellion is to kill the hope.” He points at her. “That’s you, my
dear. And the rest will follow, like lambs lining up for the
slaughter.”

“If you kill me, then you agree there’s no
need to hurt anyone else?”

He laughs. “Look at you … bargaining when
you have no cards left to play! No, pet. After your death, when the
rebels are most vulnerable, we will attack. Those intermix in the
meadow must go, followed by your backwoods brother and whatever
other rubes stand in our way. But contrary to what you might think,
I don’t want to spill any more blood than necessary. What good is a
country with no citizens?”

“There would be no one for you to rule,”
Nazirah observes. “No one to fulfill your quotas.”

“Exactly,” he replies. “The Medis have
suffered terribly in the past few months, Nazirah. It has been most
trying, explaining why they must ration their food, why there are
water shortages, why their furniture is backlogged. It confuses
them.”

“I bet it does.”

“You can see why your death is
necessary.”

“And what of your wife’s death?” she asks,
savoring the look of unchecked shock on his face. Even his
bodyguards tense. “Was that necessary too?”

“Interesting,” Gabirel breathes, eyes
narrowing. He inspects Nazirah’s throat more closely, noticing the
bruises and bites. He touches one near her clavicle, making Nazirah
shudder. Hand catching her chain, Gabirel slowly pulls out the
pendant. Nazirah inhales sharply. “Very interesting,” he repeats.
“It seems Adamek enjoys his pillow talk.”

“You don’t know anything!”

“I know you like to work that mouth of
yours. No wonder my son likes you so much.”

Nazirah spits in his face. His two
bodyguards look alarmed, but Gabirel does not move.

“Let me tell you something, Nazirah,” he
says, smiling insanely. “The aforementioned reasons for killing you
are all true, and they are all good reasons. But they are not my
reasons. Do you follow me?”

“No, but I’m sure you’ll elaborate.”

“When I learned of Victoria’s indiscretion,”
Gabirel continues, “that was embarrassing enough. But she kept it
quiet, as did I with my own dalliances, so it was tolerable for a
time. When I learned her lover was a dirty intermix, however, it
was no longer tolerable. I had him killed, and then I killed her.
It was a matter of pride, of honor.”

Nazirah remains silent.

“When Adamek turned on me for that decision,
knowingly betrayed me, you can imagine how hurt I was. I gave him
everything he wanted, and this was his thanks? Another brutal
attack on my honor.” He grabs Nazirah roughly, growling. “Still, I
would have forgiven him! He is my only son, heir to everything I
own … everything I am! But the fatal blow was learning he had
fallen for an intermix whore. And not just any intermix, no. You,
Nazirah Nation, champion of everything I hate.” He licks the side
of her bloody face, spitting on the floor. “You’re not worth the
air I breathe.”

“You can’t honestly believe all that!” she
says. “Even you aren’t that stupid.”

“I believe you are barbaric, dirty, poor,
uneducated, and completely wrong for my son. But, yes, it is all
circumstantial … contingent on the conditions we have forced upon
you.”

“Then why not integrate us into
society?”

“Because,” Gabirel says, “you intermix are a
disease, infesting and breeding without a cure! You are the leprosy
of the country. And you must be eradicated before becoming toxic to
the entire system.”

“We’re already in the
system, Chancellor!” Nazirah laughs. “We
are
the system! You’re too
late.”

Gabirel grabs Nazirah by the chin and throws
her to the floor. He bends over her, yanking her hair so their
faces are mere inches apart. Nazirah cringes and he smiles. “Maybe
so, maybe not,” he whispers. “But as I said before, that is not my
reason. When I kill you tomorrow, it will not be a message to the
Medis or even to the rebels. It will be a message to my son.” He
straightens quickly. “Take her to the prepared chambers,” he tells
his guards. “I want her well rested. She has a big day
tomorrow.”

And with that, he’s gone.

Nazirah struggles to stand, slipping on
Grum’s blood. One of the guards pulls her up. Nazirah looks into
her eyes, hoping for some kindness. She finds only a wall. The
guards take her through several hallways which she recognizes from
Adamek’s memory. Nazirah is sure they’re leading her to a torture
chamber. When she sees the actual room, however, Nazirah thinks she
might have preferred getting the rack. Because this is torture of
an entirely worse kind.

“The Chancellor thought you would enjoy
spending the night here,” one guard says callously.

The guards exit Adamek’s room, locking
Nazirah inside. Nazirah tries to wrench the door open, without
success. She turns. It’s exactly as she remembers. Shuffling in a
daze, she wonders if this is how Victoria Morgen felt in her
marriage … in her life. Trapped, with no hope of escape.

Nazirah skims her fingers across Adamek’s
bed, stares at his mural, and finally stands before his glass wall.
She gingerly inspects her stinging cigar burn, now welt. It’s a
fiery red circle on her forearm. Just like Cayus, Nazirah now has
her very own badge of the intermix. She curls into a ball on the
floor, close to the glass. She stays that way for hours, watching
the tiny traffic, the lights blinking on and off. The sky turns
twilight, then deep black. Nazirah fades in and out of
consciousness. She fights sleep, even though her body and mind and
soul are spent. Every minute that passes is a minute closer to
death.

Nazirah clutches her hands together,
trembling. She rubs her wrist until it’s sore. And she prays. She
prays to no one … to everyone … to anyone who will listen. Nazirah
prays to her parents for strength, apologizing for not being
smarter, for not thinking faster, for disappointing them. She prays
for Lumi’s survival, for the safety of everyone at headquarters.
Nazirah prays for Niko, reflecting on their relationship, wishing
she tried harder as a sister. What will happen to him, once he has
absolutely no family left? Nazirah prays for Cato, regretting that
they will never fix things and that their friendship will end on
such a sour note. She would give anything to hug him again, feel
his tender kiss on her forehead. Nazirah hopes Cato and Cander will
bridge their differences. Stubbornness and pride blind them, and
neither sees how truly similar they are.

Nazirah cradles herself, pretends it is
Adamek holding her. She drags his pillow onto the floor, inhaling
his scent. What she would give for an Iluxor now! She thinks of his
face, of his piercing eyes, trying to remember their exact shade.
She will never see them again, never see him again. And she wants
to. She really, really wants to. She wants to touch his jaw and
kiss his lips and banter and fight and hit and taste and just
live.

She wants to live.

#

Nazirah sits up slowly, rubbing cramped and
sore muscles. Her arm still smarts, her forehead is caked and
peeling. Nazirah watches heavy gray clouds roll across an overcast
sky. Rain today … it’s fitting.

Nazirah stares at her reflection in the
glass. Her appearance is ragged and her eyes are haunting. They
were once the same as Riva’s, window to her mother’s soul. They
were once honey and amber and bright. But now they are dull and
hollow.

Riva was no murderer. There are many ways to
break the soul.

Nazirah feels the fallout.

#

Nazirah rises, knowing she must have only
minutes left. She walks around Adamek’s room one final time.
Nazirah sits at his desk, running her palms over the grain. Her
hand drifts to the side drawer, opening it hesitantly. Nazirah
shuffles under the books, pulling out the hidden silver case not
even Gabirel knows exists.

Laying the case on the desk, Nazirah blows
away the dust, particles of the past. She shakily enters the code.
It opens it with a flourish, revealing the ink, needle and pistol,
untouched for months, long forgotten. Fingers move of their own
accord, unscrewing the jar, dipping the needle. She gives herself a
single black scratch, just above the knuckle.

Ramses.

She prays for him then, unexpectedly.
Nazirah checks the gun; it’s loaded with a solitary bullet. She
searches the drawers for more, finds nothing. It’s a rotten trick,
because a gun with only one bullet can have only one purpose.
Nazirah stares at it numbly. Maybe she could shoot Gabirel. Maybe
she could shoot herself. She could end it all so easily. And her
family wouldn’t have to watch her die.